


Better Late Than Never

by Zombiebarnes



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Canon Cardassia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 12:05:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16764823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombiebarnes/pseuds/Zombiebarnes
Summary: This is pure, self indulgent angst, and I'm sorry.





	Better Late Than Never

1.

Little Jules had never wanted anything more than he wanted to be loved.

He had often wondered whether he would have felt the same way had he not been raised to feel abnormal. Would he have been any happier? Might he have pursued a different career if his actions were not driven by the desire to feel needed; no, to feel _wanted_? Throughout his teenage years, his fear of being discovered had held him back when it came to getting close to his peers. Keep them at arm’s length, he had told himself. It’s better that way. Focus on your studies.

Starfleet medical had offered him a bright future. The scientifically adept son of two relatively important people. Why, he had practically been the poster boy of his class. His parents were proud, but his relationships still felt little more than skin deep. Nevertheless, he was popular, mild mannered, and well liked. Ever the optimist, Julian took his assignment to Deep Space Nine as a challenge. A new frontier to conquer. Yes, it was going to be an excellent opportunity.

What Julian hadn’t planned on, however, was meeting Elim Garak. The man had all but swooped in out of nowhere, and captured his imagination with a mischievous glint in his eye. There was something about Garak, something that made him feel as if there was more behind his façade. Julian could only hope that something was gentle. Tender, even. Garak’s eyes as he looked at him while they argued over the merits of literature, ignoring the plates of uneaten food that sat between them, had, in each glance, contained more love than Julian had ever felt in his life. He had spent many hours basked in the warm afterglow of his affections.

Garak was sturdy, for a Cardassian. One might even refer to him as stocky. His shoulders were broad, and his proud, upright posture reminded Julian of his father’s. His eyes were a veritable ocean of different feelings, complex and brooding. Julian thrived on the feather-light touches Garak littered across his body. Nothing made him feel quite as elated as the weight of the older man’s hands on his shoulders, or a reassuring squeeze of his knee during a difficult encounter.

Of course, life on Deep Space Nine had continued, and both men had been too stubborn to confess to their feelings. Julian was lucky enough to have had access to a steady stream of wonderful women, all of them fiercely independent. Julian felt privileged to have been given the opportunity, but still, the image of Garak gripping a pin between his teeth, or the sweet, subtle scent of his cologne was what lingered in Julian’s imagination long after he had left the promenade.

There were many occasions during which Julian felt the tension fizzle like static in the air between them, a thread that inextricably linked the two of them drawing him closer, but every time it felt that they were within inches of deepening their relationship, Garak would pull away. The doctor saw a sadness that lingered behind the veneer, on occasion, but in a split second, it would be gone. As if nothing had happened, Garak would smooth the front of his shirt, and make his excuses to leave.

The war dragged on, and their friendship changed. Julian finally felt that Garak was being honest with him. Allowing him to see a side of his personality that he tried to keep hidden, showing weakness and vulnerability in his presence. So often Julian had found himself craving more of the other man, but it seemed that every time Garak would wordlessly deny his requests.

The two men seemed to exist harmoniously for a time. Garak had come to accept Julian’s steadfast presence as a permanent fixture in his life. Julian could almost have been convinced that this alone was what happiness resembled. Perhaps it was the impending threat of death, or the hostile environment they found themselves in, but it seemed no matter how tiring Julian found the circumstances around them, he could always be revitalised with a visit to Garak’s store. A short conversation about the merits of running a small business on a space station had the power to transform him entirely. Julian was sure that if it wasn’t for his interactions with Garak, he might have been driven entirely mad by their predicament.

Still, Garak’s company alone had not been enough. He had wanted nothing more than to gingerly grip the lapels of one of Garak’s more garish outfits, to pull him close and feel the heat of his lips, the comfort of connected, the safety and security he found in being thoroughly understood.

By the time the Dominion War ended, and the crew were reassigned to other locations with little more than a pat on the head for their good work, Julian’s relationship with Garak had once again become little more than courtesy. He could no longer quite tell what was going on in his friend’s head. They had strolled through the promenade together on their last day, watching the Bajorans begin to move in forces of their own, the promenade teeming with a throng of new faces. Somehow, Garak seemed out of reach, cold and distant in his behaviour. His teasing seemed more barbed than Julian had come to expect. He knew that Elim had a sharp tongue, of course. He had been on the receiving end of it several times, but it had never seemed so thoroughly deliberate.

He had left Garak that day with a small smile and an awkward handshake. He had wished him the best, and he had meant it. Garak had handed him a slip of paper with his contact details written on it in his most formal, utilitarian handwriting, and cordially informed him that he would like Julian to keep in touch. The gesture was appreciated, even if the young doctor wasn’t entirely convinced.

It wasn’t until Julian watched the door close behind his companion that he felt a familiar twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach.

He’d made a mistake.

2.

Letting Garak go without confessing his feelings had been Julian’s biggest regret. In the months that followed, he had glanced at the slip of paper several times, he had typed out big epics declaring every feeling he had ever had for Garak, and how much of a fool he had been for ignoring them. He had paced back and forth in his newly assigned quarters so vigorously that he could have sworn he had worn a hole in the floor. But the communications sat undelivered in his drafts folder, and the video messages built up until he had no room left on his PADD to store them. Until one day, Julian simply stopped.

He made every effort over the following years justify to himself why he hadn’t bothered to contact Garak.

Year one, He was busy. He’d heard tales of Garak’s exploits. Running for election, overseeing the instalment of a new government. It was difficult work, he wouldn’t have the time.

Year two, He hadn’t received any correspondence. He was angry. Clearly their friendship didn’t mean as much to Garak as it had to him. It didn’t matter.

Year three, He didn’t care for Garak as much as he thought he had. He’d met a good man who treated him with nothing but adoration. He could settle. Besides, Cardassia was worlds away.

Year four, surely he’d moved on by now. Married. Maybe he’d be expecting children. What good would it do to confess now, after all these years?

Before Julian knew it, nine or ten years had elapsed in a blur. Where had the time gone? What had he been doing that was so important? What did he have to show for all his hard work, other than a few cheap medals and a textbook with his name on it? He stared at his own reflection in the window of the shuttle pod. His face had aged some, his hair beginning to grey on the sides. It was the most visible reminder of his age. He walked with a slight limp, a leftover result of an accident in combat. His doctor told him it was psychosomatic. (“like hell it is” he’d replied indignantly. He was a medical professional; he knew well enough how to diagnose his own ailments)

He had been moving the last of his things from his office when he had received a letter, neatly stamped and initialled in cursive, and printed on good quality paper. He wasn’t much of a linguist, but he knew Kardassi when he saw it. The letter had been straight to the point, simple in its instructions. Arrive at 1900. We will be gathering to lay Elim Garak to rest. Anyone who wishes to speak during the proceedings should make themselves known within the next 24 hours. For all intents and purposes, it appeared to be a fairly standard invitation, with the exclusion of the message printed at the bottom of the page.

Julian’s thumb had traced the imprint of each individual letter, reading aloud, ‘Doctor Bashir, it was Elim’s wish that you, specifically should attend his funeral.’ Any doubt Julian might have had about the circumstances was soon extinguished. Garak had asked for him personally. Why?

Now, on the descent towards Garak’s home planet, Julian felt uneasy about what he would find here. His physical distance from the planet had allowed him to numb the feelings that came with the news of Garak’s death, until now. He adjusted the strap on his bag, shuffling anxiously. He had heard that the now Admiral Sisko had also been invited to attend. He secretly hoped he wouldn’t have to confront that particular situation just yet.

The first thing Julian noticed about Cardassia was the heat. He had never experienced anything quite like it. It was almost oppressive. As he made his way down the shuttle’s ramp, he was instantly hit by a scent he could only describe as humidity. They appeared to have been deposited in the midst of a market, of some description. The streets were brimming with Cardassians selling their wares, colourful fabric strung between the stalls that surrounded them. In the distance, sandy hills rose above the peak of the city’s tallest tower. Walking through the streets, tracing routes that Elim might have walked himself only months earlier, he felt of wave of something barrelling towards him. He ducked into a quiet side street, his slim frame heaving for air, he felt like he’d been winded.

3.

The funeral was nothing if not completely, and entirely _Garak._

Julian felt his presence in every carefully placed rosary, every sympathetic relative. Every note and every line in every piece of music.

He didn’t speak during the funeral. He didn’t feel he had the right.

He watched as Garak’s friends and colleagues stood, one at a time, recounting tales of their time together.

It appeared that after everything, he wasn’t the only person who had cared.

He found some solace in knowledge that Garak hadn’t been alone in his final days.

After the service, a woman approached him, laying a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. It took all of Julian’s composure not to crumple under her touch.

Ziyal handed him a notepad, black leather, embossed with the seal of the new Cardassian government.

“He would have wanted you to have this,” She spoke softly, pressing a tender kiss to the Doctor’s forehead.

4.

The notepad was packed away on the highest shelf Julian could find in his apartment, gathering dust on top of the wardrobe. The smooth, black matt appeared to taunt him, even from a distance. Reminding him of all the time he’d wasting fretting. Now Garak was gone, and it was too late. Julian had managed to sabotage their fledgling relationship before it had even really begun.

It had been months since the funeral, and yet he still couldn’t bring himself to open it. From the short glances he’d snuck in the time since, it seemed that Garak had filled the entire book. Julian was curious, naturally, but the loss of one of his dearest companions still weighed heavy in his heart. For the first time in his life, Doctor Bashir found himself having run out of optimism. His trip to Cardassia had only exacerbated his distress.

It had been a long time since Julian had awoken to thoughts of Garak, picturing outline of his chest, or the tight, thin line formed by his lips when Julian expressed a sentiment he didn’t agree with. That night his eyes snapped open, his hand patting the bed beside him in the dark, reaching for something. Perhaps he was expecting to find him there, alive and well. Perhaps he had been expecting Garak to speak in dulcet tones, to pull him close. He would rest his head on Garak’s shoulder, the older man whispering sweet things into his ear to soothe him. But of course, he found the space beside him cold and empty

He rolled over with a groan, taking the opportunity to check the alarm clock beside the bed.

2am.

He propped himself up on his elbows, looking over at the wardrobe. Elim’s notepad lay, precariously balanced, in a box on top. A cool breeze blew through the apartment, the thin curtains billowing in the wind. Outside, the streetlights cast the room in a pale golden hue. From this distance, at this time, it seemed almost as if it was taunting him. A visible reminder of all of his past failures, his broken promises, and not just to Garak.

Julian let out a sigh, padding across the room.

The box felt suspiciously heavy in his hands. He wasn’t generally a superstitious man, but even he had to wonder whether there was something in the sentiment. He wiped the dust away with the back of one hand, holding the book close his chest. He couldn’t help but notice the way his fingers trembled as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, and began to read.

Garak had indeed filled the pages of the book, it appeared. It was all rather poetic, holding in his hands, something that Garak had touched only months before him. His throat ached, and his eyes watered as he read the dates on each page

_48592.2,_

_Julian, I have tried my utmost to assure you that age is inconsequential, but allow me to do so again. Whether you are 30, or 80, you will remain ever the object of my affections…_

_49300.7,_

_Every moment I spend in your company seems an adventure the likes of which I never thought I would have again…_

And then, written in bold text at the top of the last page,

_52902.0_

_Now I see how our fortunes are changing, it is my greatest regret to never have told you how I deeply I cared for you…_


End file.
